E'drasi
by Georgasaurus
Summary: He went to her to hear a legend, but instead found so much more; a tale of darkness, blood, and regret. Thrown into the life of a vampire hunter, he learned of E'drasi...and what happens when the hunter becomes the hunted.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

A figure sat in the brightly lit inn, a fire roaring not far behind them. Music filled the air as a bard plucked at the strings of their lute, her soft voice somehow clear over the bustle of the patrons. The man, however, was not interested in song and drink night. Indeed, while he had a tankard of ale beside him, he had not drunk from it. It was easier to keep up appearances that way.

Eventually the sky darkened outside. It was time. The man stood up, slipped ten gold pieces for a room to the barmaid. She regarded him with interest and leaned forward to offer her cleavage to his eye line, but he had already turned to head towards the stairs. If he did not follow orders exactly, he could lose his chance completely.

The man slipped into his room and closed the door behind. The room was plunged into darkness, but his eyes saw perfectly through the darkness. He smiled and crossed his arms. "Such a trick might work on a mortal, assassin, but not I."

All at once, every candle in the room lit, and the man found his sensitive eyes suddenly screaming in protest at the overwhelming light. He staggered back, staring at the ground as his eyes watered. Eventually, they settled and he slowly looked up.

The assassin was leaning against the desk in the corner of the room, casually spinning the point of an upright dagger into the wood. "I have more than a few tricks up my sleeves, vampire. Your arrogance does you no favours."

The man gritted his teeth, his fangs stirring slightly as he imagined tearing the throat out of the insolent mortal. He resisted, however. He needed them. "I am here to arrange the details of my request, nothing else. I prayed to your Mother. I have the gold. So let us get this over with."

Standing up straight, the assassin nodded and sheathed the silver dagger. The man produced a bag of gold and placed it on the desk. "That will be yours, should she die. And you must make sure she is dead. She is...tricky."

"Her name?" the assassin stared at the bag of gold as he spoke.

"Weaver. She is currently residing somewhere in the Jerall Mountains, though I know not where exactly."

"Oh? An old woman? I would have thought someone such as yourself would have no difficulty with her."

"Do not underestimate her. She may be old, but she is clever. A direct attack...may not work."

"I see." The assassin tapped at his legs with his fingers. "Then I may have to be creative. Perhaps ask others to help me. But it will be done in the name of our Dread Father. My Speaker tells me her name has had a special place in the Night Mother's heart for some time now. I shall show her the love of our family."

"Yes, yes, Dread Father and whatnot," the man said, turning away and waving his hand in disregard. He didn't care about the religious beliefs of the cult, only that he did what they asked. "But I have your word that you will-"

The man had looked back to find the assassin gone. The door was open, just slightly. He checked that the assassin wasn't lurking in the corridor, and then sniffed the air. His scent was lingering, but faint. He had definitely gone. Good.

He began to laugh to himself. When the assassin made his move, he would die. There was no doubt about it. He was nothing but bait, and he didn't even realise it.

The vampire closed the door and sat himself at his desk with some parchment, a quill, and ink. He paused for a moment, and then began to outline the rest of his plan.


	2. Red

**Red**

"Greetings, muthsera." A young, male Dunmer stood at the small campfire and smiled at the elf opposite him. "May I join you?"

"Welcome, sera," the woman replied. "Please, sit."

The man nodded and sunk to the ground, rubbing his hands against the chill of the Jerall Mountains. He was dressed in a worn, grey cloak with a hood, which could not hide his thin, angular features or his red Dunmer eyes. The woman glanced at his shoulders and then his waist, noting that he carried a sizable backpack, a small, silver dagger, and that several pouches had been sewn to his belt.

Snow had been cleared in a circle around the encampment, most likely by magic, and the floor was soft and warm. There was a pause as he let the heat wash over him, and then he pulled back his hood, revealing light, blue skin and dark, brown hair that had been slicked back into a ponytail. He introduced himself. "My name is Thalen Ryvano. I'm a researcher of historical legends of Tamriel."

"If you are a researcher of any worth, then you will know my name," the elven woman replied, not looking at him as she ground ingredients with a mortar and pestle. "Would you care for tea? My own recipe."

"You are Weaver." There was a silence as she looked at him expectantly. Thalen coughed, realisation dawning on him. "Yes, tea sounds delightful."

The woman beamed at him and sprinkled the ingredients into a boiling pot of water. She replaced the lid with a clang, leaving it to simmer. "Yes, I am Weaver. The Story Weaver, to be precise, but I've never been one for titles."

"A name given to you by the many travellers that have crossed your path," Thalen stated. "It is said that the legend of Neyo survives because of you."

Weaver snorted and muttered, causing him to blink in surprise. When Weaver spoke, her voice was filled with disappointment. "You have roamed far and wide, searching for a lonely wanderer who could be anywhere on the continent, to ask of _Neyo_?"

"He was a renowned vampire hunter and your most famous story. Lecturers in Morrowind swear that only those who hear the tale from your mouth can call themselves a true researcher."

"Neyo is a tale that can be heard anywhere, regardless of who tells it," Weaver replied, waving aside his protests. "It is a mundane story with an unworthy protagonist. I much detest Neyo. A true researcher looks for tales other than the famous, the _obvious_. For what good is a historian that only delves into the known? It is like a bard that only sings one tune. Useless."

Thalen winced. Her words stung.

"However," Weaver continued, "If you will indulge me, perhaps you would care to hear the tale of E'drasi?"

"Who?"

"E'drasi the Vampire Hunter. A much more complex and interesting tale than Neyo."

Thalen grimaced. A story about an unknown was not what he was here for. His trip would be a waste if he did not hear the tale he wanted.

"And..."

Thalen looked up at Weaver's utterance, curious. Weaver grinned, pleased she had his attention. "...and if you listen to this tale, then I will tell you the true story of Neyo."

"The true story?"

"My conventional telling is false. A pretty and decorated fairytale to please the ignorant majority. Reality is a cruel mistress, and I dare not upset the delusions of their hero, Neyo. What else would they rely on to keep their spirits up when times are hard? Sithis? The Nine?"

Weaver burst out into laughter at her own joke, although Thalen looked somewhat offended. Weaver seemed not to notice his expression, however, and continued to laugh to herself. Thalen took the moment to study her. She was heavily cloaked in furs and thick cloth to shelter her against the cold, and a silver dagger hung at the leather belt on her waist. Another dagger – possibly ebony, although the furs obscured it too much to tell – was partially concealed at the side of her boot. A blue hood shrouded most of her face in shadow. Only her mouth was truly visible; her dark lips settled now into a thin smile.

"So, do we have a deal?" Weaver asked, setting herself out a cup, her hand hovering over the second as she waited for his answer. He nodded and she picked up the cup, placing it next to her own. Weaver opened the pot and sniffed at the steam curling lazily from it, before nodding, satisfied. She produced a ladle, stirred the concoction, and then spooned the tea carefully into Thalen's cup. He accepted the cup off her and waited until she had prepared her own.

"Such manners," she commented, the tones of approval in her voice clear. Weaver raised her tea to him, and then sipped. Thalen mimicked her, but spluttered as the tea touched his mouth. The spice burned, sending a rush of heat throughout his body, every inch of him tingling in the aftermath. Weaver giggled. It felt as if it was unusual for her, like a Dremora curtseying.

"Drink it all, if you can manage," she advised. "It'll keep you warm for the entire night."

Thalen tried and eventually drained the cup, spilling some down his front because his swollen tongue had gotten in the way.

"Can you breathe?" she asked, laughing when his features contorted in alarm. "Don't worry; I have an antidote should it put you in any risk. It's a mild poison that causes heat flushes in most people. Some, however, get a swollen tongue or throat. If you can still breathe, you'll be fine in a few hours."

"Ow um oo ah auh-igh?"

"I've developed a resistance of sorts over the years. Still keeps me warm, but with less...inconvenient side effects."

Thalen wished she had warned him beforehand. And yet he did feel very warm...

Weaver shifted in her furs and finished her tea. "Now...the story of E'drasi."

"This tale begins, as most do, with a poor family living out their unremarkable lives in peace. They toiled away for a lord of unknown name, because good masters are seldom remembered by history. They lived in the province of Morrowind, many centuries ago, and so naturally were Dunmer people. Raalu and Ll'thalel were a happy couple, and one year Ll'thalel gave birth to a daughter. The child to you is E'drasi.

"But unknown to the people, their lord held a terrible secret, a secret that could destroy his household if it were ever to become public."

Despite himself, Thalen leaned forward, intrigued. Weaver smirked.

"His wife was a vampire."

"Wath thee ethul?" Thalen asked her through his thick tongue. She shook her head.

"The chapel crows that vampires are monsters, blood thirsty and cruel. But I have met many vampires on my travels who simply wish to be left alone, in peace. The Lady herself was such a being and often slew animals to satisfy her appetite. When cattle were in short supply, she was locked away in the dungeons at her request so that her hunger would not endanger any.

"However, when the child turned four, famine swept across the land. The people starved and the lord allowed the livestock to be kept for his subjects instead of his wife. Blood was collected every time an animal was slaughtered, but eventually no more could be spared. The vampire grew hungry and she was locked in the dungeons, as was the norm.

"For months she was imprisoned in her own home, ravenous from a lack of blood. The Lady had begun to scratch at the stone walls and chew at the bars in hunger. One night, the guards, in their foolishness, became drunk, and a wager was made that the youngest guard was too afraid to venture into the dungeons..."

* * *

><p>The first thing that Hesen noticed was the nicks in the bars. The entire door was made of metal, which must have cost a fortune, but the bars...<p>

Teeth marks?

The guard shook his head, which he regretted when the entire world began to spin. Hesen leaned against the stone wall and shut his eyes, wishing that he hadn't consumed so much ale. He would be ill in the morning and his lordship would not be pleased. Hesen had half a mind to simply go to bed, but his pride would suffer if he backed out now. Did the other guards suspect that he had a fear of the dark? It mattered not. He had to do this. Fumbling for the ring of keys on his belt, Hesen located the one he had been forbidden from ever using, and inserted it into the lock. The Lord and Lady insisted all stayed far from this part of the manor, but the Lady had been away on business for several months and was not expected to return soon. The Lord, meanwhile, always retired early for the night and wouldn't reappear until dawn.

Hesen bit his lip as he hesitated, and then turned the key with difficulty. It was stiff and met his efforts with some resistance. He couldn't understand why the dungeon was off-limits. All of the nobility had their secrets, but surely nothing so terrible that his loyal guards could not know. The Lord was a good man after all.

'_So loyal that his men go against his wishes and break into his forbidden rooms?'_ a little voice said in his head. A pang of guilt shot through his chest, but he did his best to ignore it.

The air was stale and heavy, as if it had not been inhaled for years. Hesen crept as quietly as he could down the stone stairs, wincing at how his footsteps seemed to echo so loudly in the stifling silence. As he descended into the depths, the guard was surprised to see that the room was, in fact, well decorated. Or it had been. Parts of the beautifully crafted, wooden furniture had been torn away, the velvet padding in the chairs ripped into with animal claws. Silverware had been bent into twisted shapes, and Hesen was certain a chunk had been bitten out of a goblet. The large, intricate rug that had been spread across the floor had been shredded into ragged strips, scarlet threads splayed across the grey stone like thin trails of blood. In the corner there was a Welkynd stone fixed into a metal stand, illuminating parts of the room. Why candles were not used, he did not know.

His foot hit solid ground and Hesen stumbled, unprepared for the end of the stairs. A noise of surprise escaped his lips before he could stop himself, and he clasped his hand to his mouth, suddenly afraid. He should not be here. He had completed the dare; it was time to leave.

As Hesen turned to go, however, a flash of grey caught his eye and he froze.

"Who's there?" he called out before he could stop himself. A low hiss rang out from the dark in response. Footsteps that were not his followed and a figure began to take shape in the gloom. It was the Lord's wife.

"My lady!" Hesen gasped, nearly dropping the keyset that he had kept clutched in his fist. "I-I apologise! I didn't realise I'd made a mistake until I was down here! I-"

Hesen stopped, suddenly transfixed by her eyes. They seemed to bore into him, rooting him to the spot. The eyes were strange, too. Red, but not the red of the Dunmer. A different red; paler, haunting...

By the time Hesen came to his senses, it was too late. The Lady was by his side, caressing his face. He opened his mouth to protest, when her fingers clamped at his jaw, pushing his head up with such force that his neck snapped. Before his body could crumple, however, the Lady had hooked her arms under his, pulling Hesen to her breast while her fangs found his neck.

The door remained open.

* * *

><p>"We're not supposed to be out here!" hissed the little elven girl. Her companion, a peasant boy only two years her senior, pulled a face.<p>

"Cowardly goblin!" he jeered, sticking his tongue out at her. "Cowardly, cowardly goblin!"

"Am not!" she cried, hitching up her skirt and bounding through the undergrowth to him.

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too, are too, are too!" The boy drew out his last word as he sprinted away deeper into the forest, leaving his friend shrieking behind him.

"Am not!" she tried to follow, but the cloth of her dress snagged on a nearby plant, holding her in place. "Am not! Ulathil, wait! Don't leave me behind! Ulathil!"

She began to cry, scared to be alone in the dark.

"Are too." The voice at her ear made her jump, and she screamed in fright. Ulathil clamped his hand to her mouth. "Stop it! You'll get us caught, you will."

"We'll get in trouble. Mama says there are wolves in the woods at night. Can we go home now?" she begged, wiping her nose on her dirty sleeve. Ulathil rolled his eyes and muttered 'cowardly goblin' under his breath, but then nodded.

The two children walked back towards the lord's estate, the girl clinging to the boy's arm. Ulathil grumbled at her clinginess, but allowed her to keep hold of him. The trees swayed in the breeze, creaking endlessly while the rustling and calls of nocturnal animals surrounded them in the near black. The girl sniffed, comforted by Ulathil's touch, and squinted in the dark, trying to see the light of the peasant village. In the distance she could see the shapes of houses, but also something different...something...new. The night sky had an orange glow to it. Her child's mind could not understand why this unsettled her, but it did.

"Ulathil, what's that?" she mumbled, tightening her grip on him.

"What's what?"

"The orange colour."

"Don't know."

They made their way to the clearing and then froze as they began to hear faint screams. Without looking at his friend, Ulathil tore himself away from her grasp, leaving her crying out his name at the woodland edge. He ran, ran as fast as his little legs would carry him, and reached the village within minutes. He stumbled into utter chaos.

Bodies were strewn across the floor, features contorted in horror and fear. Some were missing arms, legs...heads. Several of the thatched huts were aflame, and all around, women, children, and even some men were shrieking and wailing into the night. The guards were trying to move the dead, calm the peasants, and keep order. And the blood; oh, the blood...

Ulathil fell to his knees and began to retch, but the vomit would not come. The smell of burning meat, of blood was tainting him, making him dizzy. But his parents...he had to find his parents. Dragging himself to his feet, Ulathil staggered in the direction of his parents' hut, calling their names. He had almost reached, seeing it with his own eyes, when a hand clamped down on his shoulder, pulling him away from his home.

"Stay away, lad," the guard warned him. "This is no place for children."

"B-but my mother!" he wailed, not caring that he was crying. "My father!"

The guard glanced at the blood splattered hut and sighed. "They're dead."

Dead?

"A vampire entered the village just under an hour ago," the guard continued. "Attacked the villagers, had her fill, and then fled. Think it may have been the Lord's wife...or what used to be his wife. Nothing but a monster now."

He noticed the look on Ulathil's face and realised he had been too careless with his words. The guard called over one of the less hysterical peasant women and handed Ulathil to her, deciding his place was sorting out this mess, not comforting children.

When the young elven girl had plucked up the courage to make her way back to the village, she was greeted by her parents. It was Ll'thalel she saw first, her mama's eyes staring blindly up at her from the grass. The rest of her body was strewn some distance away across the field, a farming tool crushed through her chest, pinning it to the ground. The girl saw that her mama's apron was soaked with blood; it was all she could focus on. She had been learning to stitch with her mother for the past few weeks, overjoyed when Ll'thalel had praised her wonky sewing. Her mama was wearing the apron she had made for her now. It was ruined. Red and ruined, red and ruined, red...

The girl turned from her mama, not wanting to look at the red apron anymore. It was all wrong. She took two steps forward and tripped over a tree root, shrieking out in surprise. An elderly woman, who had somehow avoided the vampire, heard her cries and scurried over. Her bird-claw hands clutched at the girl's arm, dragging her to her feet with surprising strength.

"Come," she whispered, the woman's red

_redredred_

eyes wide with fear and revulsion. They seemed to be fixated on the root that had caused the child to fall. The woman held onto her, trying to stop her looking back at what she had fallen over, but she struggled until she could get a glimpse.

It wasn't a tree root at all, but a mangled arm. The owner had no recognisable face, for it had been slashed down to the bone, a bloody skeletal grin smirking at her. She was scared, yes, but her child's mind seemed to protect her from the true horror. It protected her right until the moment when she spotted the stained pendant at the body's neck. It was her papa's.

She screamed, once. It was terrible scream, too old for a girl as young as she, too unnatural and cruel for her sweet lips. Then the noise cut off into a gargle as her eyelids drooped and she began to sway dangerously.

* * *

><p>"She fainted on the spot and was plagued with nightmares of their ruined faces for years to come," Weaver said simply.<p>

"Ah, I see," said Thalen, whose tongue had since returned to its normal size. He looked somewhat ill at the graphic detail the storyteller had provided. "This is a traditional affair, then? The girl is E'drasi, who, after witnessing the slaughter of her parents and village, set out as a vampire hunter to destroy the vampire that took away her home." It was a statement, not a question.

"No." Weaver shook her head while Thalen looked surprised. "I said this story was more interesting than Neyo, not cliché. Although, the girl did become E'drasi the vampire hunter, yes."

"Then what happened?" Thalen was confused. Why mention such an attack if it did not bring about the desire to hunt vampires?

"The Lady escaped Morrowind and, to my knowledge, settled down somewhere in Cyrodiil. Skingrad, I believe. Her husband was tried by the people for hiding a dangerous vampire. He was publically lynched as a lesson to all those who would dare to conceal a so-called 'monster.' The girl and her friend, Ulathil were taken in by members of House Hlaalu, who sympathised with the peasants, but also wished to show off their 'charitable' nature by adopting those less fortunate than themselves. Mere prestige gain, but the two were cared for very well and grew to love their new families.

"Ulathil wanted to make his own way in the world. He was not content to leech off the nobility and so began to train. He desired to fight for his money, having a much pent-up anger to aid him in such a career. His friend tagged along with him, happy to follow in his footsteps. She had no goals or ambitions of her own, you see."

"She was E'drasi?"

"I suppose she was, yes."

"You suppose?"

"The two learned all they could from the House battle masters," continued Weaver, as though she had not heard him, "and when their skill was sufficient, they left to sell their talents to whoever would pay. His aim with a bow was deadly, and her handling of a blade was near unmatched. It was during this brief time as mercenaries that Ulathil learned the ash of a dead vampire is paid for highly by certain individuals and some alchemists. It is hard to slay one and so the ingredient of ash is fairly uncommon. However, most pay simply for proof that another vampire is dead.

"Ulathil, who had been old enough at the time to understand what had happened to his parents, harboured a deep hatred of vampires, and merely considered the activity a pleasure for which he was paid. His companion, on the other hand had been too young. The nightmares and memories of her parents had long since faded, and while she knew the night had been terrible, it did not affect her feelings. She saw vampires simply as a way to make gold, nothing more."

"But vampires drink the blood of people and murder innocents!" Thalen exclaimed. "Surely she would detest them on principle!"

"Have you listened to nothing I have said?" Weaver snapped, glowering at him. "Not all vampires are mindless monsters; many wish to be left alone, drinking animal blood to get by. A vampire is a person, just like you. They do not murder innocents; their bloodlust does. The Lady harmed nobody for years, until a stupid human allowed her hunger to endanger others. She tried to take every precaution to protect others, allowing herself to live in a prison, starving, for months on end so that others would be safe. So who is responsible for the deaths of those peasants – the vampire not in control of herself, or the fool of a guard who let her escape?"

Weaver fell silent, allowing Thalen to reflect on her words for a moment, before continuing. "Besides, her attitude towards vampires did change over the years. As she encountered the more dangerous, most evil ones, she gradually began to loathe her prey, perhaps more than Ulathil himself."

Weaver glanced at the horizon and then yawned. "I am, however, exhausted. Help me pack up my things. We can sleep in the nearby cave until I am refreshed and ready to continue."

Thalen raised an eyebrow, but nodded and collected her things, helping Weaver to her feet and escorting her to shelter.

The following evening the two emerged from the cave. Thalen was eager to continue, though they had to set up the magical campfire first. He stretched his neck, which was sore, most likely from the uncomfortable sleep he'd had. He watched as Weaver made her enchantments, wondering why they hadn't just stayed in the cave.

"I prefer to be out when I can," Weaver told him, seeming to sense his questions. "It is not healthy to be cooped up inside constantly."

Thalen nodded and then seated himself on the softened floor, ready to hear more. Weaver joined him and set up the pot to boil. As the water began to bubble, she leaned forwards, grinning.

"Now, where were we?"

* * *

><p><em>AN: While I know Oblivion inside-out, my knowledge on Morrowind is very poor. If anyone spots any errors in the canon, I would appreciate it greatly. Feedback is also welcomed._


	3. The Little Lamb

**The Little Lamb**

Dust flew up in waves as the two elves slid down the embankment, eyes peeled for the slightest sign of movement. As they hit the bottom, they both fell to the dirt in a fluid forward roll, springing to their feet a moment later. The day was bright, lighting up the entrance to the cave. This was good; if anything went wrong, they would have a sure escape, so long as they did not remain inside for too long.

Ulathil checked the condition of his bow and then began to whisper to his female companion. "Are you ready, Nix?"

Nix nodded in response; nothing more. Her pride and joy, her silver blade, had been checked and polished the night before. Silver, because ghosts were not particular about where they resided, and she didn't like to rely on a magical weapon. She turned to Ulathil and said—

* * *

><p>"Nix?" Thalen blurted out. "I thought you said her name was E'drasi?"<p>

Weaver arched an eyebrow at the interruption. It was clear she was not used to it. "As I was about to tell you, Nix was a nickname given to her by Ulathil."

"Why?"

"He named her as such when she slew a nix-hound at a young age. He often teased her for only fighting when with others, but credited her for her speed with a blade."

Thalen thought on this. It sounded plausible enough to him, although he did find it strange. A thought occurred to him. "Is that why she is unheard of? She went by the name Nix instead of E'drasi?"

"Have you ever heard of a vampire hunter called Nix? Ulathil alone called her Nix. All others knew her by her real name."

He fell silent, confused. Another question sprung to mind. "Did she have a nickname for Ulathil?"

Weaver smirked.

* * *

><p>"As ready as I'll ever be, Kagouti."<p>

Ulathil pouted. "I bear no resemblance to that ghastly creature. Why do you insist on calling me that?"

"I find them endearing," Nix replied with a mischievous grin. "Besides, Kagouti are renowned for their power and aggression."

"And the huge tusks protruding from their mouths," Ulathil muttered, but did not press the matter. Nix repressed a giggle, knowing now was not the time to poke him further. They had a job to do.

A nest of vampires had been discovered in an abandoned ebony mine near the base of the Red Mountain. As there were rumours that the Imperials had interest in building a mining village here, all risks had to be cleared out. The pay was good and dangers similar to any other target they'd been given before. Imperials were eager to part with their coin.

Ulathil saw Nix wrinkling her nose in displeasure and tilted his head.

"Just thinking about our gracious employers," Nix explained.

"It's been over two hundred years since the occupation," Ulathil replied, "long before we were born and nothing worth resenting a person for. Concentrate on the monsters in the mines."

Nix nodded; the conversation was over. She waited for him to lead the way. Ulathil crept towards the entrance to the mine, before turning to her, the sunlight highlighting his rugged features. His face was broad and strong, the jaw line sharply defined. Scars littered his arms, neck, and face from the many years of training, as well as hunting vampires, although the largest one on his cheek had been caused by a drunken tumble. Nix had been forbidden to tell anyone the truth of the striking mark on his grey-blue skin, and while she often had the urge to laugh at the story he gave others, she obeyed his wishes.

Nix liked the scars, though; she felt they gave him character and made him stand out from the soft rich boys she had grown up with. Ulathil had worked himself to the point of breaking until he had become muscular and deadly with a bow.

She watched Ulathil push his short, clumsily cropped black hair away from his slanted eyes, and then sighed as he disappeared into the gloom. Nix had found her heart fluttering at his mere presence for a few years now, but she was certain that he saw her as nothing as a friend. She was no one special. Not even pretty, at least in her own opinion. She too had slanted eyes – a regional characteristic – and long, blue-black hair that she tied back into a knotted bun. Nix had often considered cropping it, but always decided against it. For one, she didn't want Ulathil to think she was copying him, and also because long hair was her last bit of femininity. Nix held onto the remaining fragment dearly.

Nix rubbed her her thin, dark lips to remove the grit that had settled on them, smearing dirt across her pale blue skin. She wondered if there was any way she could hint to him how she felt...and if telling him would damage their friendship at all.

"Nix!" a voice hissed.

Nix snapped out of her daydream to see Ulathil at the cave entrance again, glaring at her.

"Focus!"

"Sorry!" she mouthed back, and made her way carefully towards the mine. Ulathil had always cared more for killing vampires than she had. According to him, a vampire had murdered their families when they were children, but she couldn't remember any of it. She believed him, of course, but vampires hadn't hurt her new family of House Hlaalu. Nix saw no reason to take vengeance over something she felt nothing for. And yet sometimes the colour red made her feel sick and afraid. It often made eye contact with other Dunmer difficult, and she found it a struggle to look at herself in the mirror with her own red eyes.

Nix shivered and forged ahead, allowing the darkness to engulf her. She preferred the darkness; it was familiar and comforting. She adjusted the fur strapped to her leather armour. It was wolf, which helped to mask her smell from the vampires, as they often kept the creatures as pets. While it didn't cover her scent completely, the fur was enough to stop the vampires being aware of her presence immediately. There were spells that helped, too, but Nix had never bothered to train in the arts of magic. The most she could do was a weak fireball, a charm spell, and a basic unlocking trick. They had come from her lifestyle more than a desire to indulge in the arcane arts.

The charm and lock spells had been useful for getting her way around the servants and the occasional guard in the House, as well as breaking into the pantry at night. Fire had been a way to fight boredom by igniting nearby shalks and small mammals or pests that crossed her path. However, her adoptive mother had complained about the smoky smell left on her clothes until Nix had simply stopped to get away from the persistent nagging. Her father changed the locks on the pantry, meaning she would've had to learn much more difficult spells, which she was simply not capable of. The charm spell lost its effect over time. After that, she'd never bothered with magic again, preferring to talk with steel instead.

Nix was eager for the vampires to have a conversation with her blade. Unlike Ulathil, it wasn't personal. She simply liked to fight.

The running water within the depths of the mine was a godsend, for the noise would disguise her footsteps. Her shoes were padded to give her the softest step possible, but vampires had sensitive hearing. The slightest noise would give her away.

Once daylight had been left behind in the higher levels of the tunnels, Nix allowed her eyes to adjust to the black. She waited for a moment and then remembered the ring that her parents had given her for her recent birthday; it had been enchanted with Nighteye. Taking the ring from a pouch at her waist, Nix slid it onto her finger. The world immediately became blue, the darkest corners lit up by her tinted vision. She turned to Ulathil to see him drinking a potion that would give the same effect. Her spell was permanent, however. His was not.

Now that she could see perfectly in the dark, Nix felt secure in letting her guard down. Then she noticed a figure down the length of the tunnel: a vampire scout, who seemed to be aware that they were not alone. Nix signalled to Ulathil and he nodded, edging forward and slowly drawing out his bow and a poisoned arrow. He raised his weapon, lining up his shot, and then let his sting fly loose.

There was a slight twang from the bow as the arrow soared. The vampire only had time to turn sharply towards the source of the noise before the arrow hit him in the neck. He gasped and stumbled, giving Nix the opportunity she needed to strike. In a flurry of movement, she had drawn her dagger and was by his side. Grabbing the front of the vampire's robes, she plunged the blade into his heart.

He stiffened immediately; his cries stifled by the arrow, and gaped noiselessly at Nix. Instead of attacking her, he clutched at her hand, holding onto her like a dying lover. His tight grip began to hurt, but she looked into his eyes, suddenly feeling a pang of pity. He may have been good-looking once, but now his face was grey and gaunt, twisted and ugly.

Nix lowered him to the floor, ignoring the thick, dark blood gushing from his wound and onto her clothes with every weakening heartbeat. She leaned down and whispered into his ear, "What's your name?"

"Mathis," he whimpered. Nix paused, wondering whether to console him or not, before realising all she was doing was extending his pain. Taking hold of the dagger still embedded in his chest, Nix gave it a sharp twist, damaging his heart further. The vampire groaned quietly, and then, along with the help of the poison, slipped out of consciousness. Nix removed the blade and wiped it on the vampire's cloak, before sheathing it again. He would be dead soon; no need to attack him further.

"What was that?" Ulathil hissed quietly, looming over her. "What did you just do?"

"I asked his name," Nix whispered back. "Is there a problem?"

"Compassion!" Her friend seemed momentarily speechless as he paced back and forth along the tunnel, his muffled shoes barely making a sound against the natural stone floor.

"Yes, compassion." She narrowed her eyes in annoyance. "You show mercy when you hunt for food. I see no difference."

"They're monsters!" Ulathil spat, unable to contain his rage no longer. "Beasts with human thought that should know better! They don't deserve kindness or pity, not after what they did to us!"

"What was it you were saying about the occupation?" Nix retorted, losing her temper. "Don't blame those not involved? One vampire, Ulathil. One! Does that mean we should treat them all like demons?"

For the briefest of moments, Nix thought she had beaten Ulathil down with her argument. Then he looked at her and she felt her defiance crumble all at once. Even through the gloom and blue of the magic ring, she could see the utter hatred in his eyes and was frightened by it. Ulathil said nothing; he turned from her and strode off down the cave tunnel, leaving her stood alone in the dark. Nix remained where she was for a moment, stunned by Ulathil's outburst. His anger and bitterness was greater than she had ever realised. With one last glance at Mathias' body, Nix followed her friend deeper into the vampires' nest.

* * *

><p>Weaver paused, apparently struggling with herself to continue. Thalen tilted his head, confused and somewhat concerned. The woman had described parents being mutilated and found by their own children; what could possibly be worse than that?<p>

"Weaver?" he said softly, and the story teller jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Forgive me," she murmured, shaking her head. "I have never told this tale to anyone before, and there are certain details that trouble even I. I just need..."

She began to rummage around through the layers of fur draped on her person, until finally she produced a large, dark bottle. Weaver removed the cork with her teeth and took a deep drink, before coughing, much to Thalen's surprise.

"Are you alright?"

"Brandy," Weaver gasped between hacks. "Hits the spot. Would you care for some?"

Thalen shook his head. He couldn't even handle her tea, let alone a brandy that left the story teller herself spluttering. Weaver nodded and replaced the cork. She gave a final cough and then began to speak again.

"The passage went on for some time, moss coating the walls, the air heavy, stale, and damp. Running water could be heard in the distance, but there were no other sounds. Ulathil and Nix went on undisturbed, becoming ever more suspicious of the silence with each step they took. However, by the time they would reach the heart of the lair, they would have begged for the quiet once again. The first hint towards the horror they faced lay in a puddle, apparently discarded by the vampires..."

* * *

><p>"Halt."<p>

Nix stopped, Ulathil's abrupt order surprising her. She hadn't heard him speak since he had stalked away from her over an hour ago. The journey through the caves had been uneventful, which only made her more alert and watchful. Where were all the vampires? Had they heard her arguing with Ulathil and retreated, ready to spring a trap upon them?

Nix noticed then that Ulathil was crouched over an object in a puddle of dirty water, inspecting it. She squinted and then realised it was a body, although she couldn't tell whether it was a vampire or not. It was odd, though, because it looked so small...

"A vampire?" she asked, stepping forward. Ulathil turned and threw his hands to her in alarm.

"No, don't look at it!"

He spoke too late. Nix caught a glimpse of the body over his shoulder and gasped, stumbling back. She looked away and crouched down, her heart hammering wildly against her ribcage. She couldn't bring herself to look again, but the image was now burned into her mind, raw and brutal.

"A child," she choked, raking her fingers through the dirt of the cave floor and bringing it into a little mound at her palms. "A child."

Nix wondered to herself if it could even be called a child. It looked like no child she had ever seen. While the suggestion of youth was there, the innocence had been corrupted and twisted into something...monstrous and unholy. Nix glanced up at it again and regretted it instantly.

It had been a boy once – that much she could tell. However, instead of a round and healthy face, its features were almost impossibly gaunt, the skin stretched thinly over sharply protruding cheekbones. It looked as if it had been starved to death. Premature wrinkles around the eyes and mouth were there, and the skin was mottled grey, with patches of pale blue barely visible. The eyes were the Dunmer red, but also streaks of white present nearer to the pupil. Its teeth were jagged, like a bear's, and pointed in different directions. The child's expression was screwed up in pure, undeniable pain.

It didn't matter how many dead bodies she had seen before, this child chilled her to the bone. Despite not remembering the night her parents were slaughtered, the mere sight of the body was bringing flashes of red and flame up from the depths of her memories. And just in the distance, she thought she could hear the faintest of echoing screams.

"What's happened here?" Nix whispered, staring at the ground once again.

"I think..." Ulathil whispered, clearly bothered that his companion had seen the dead child, "that they've been taking children for food. I can't see any other reason why he'd be here."

"But why does it look like...like that?"

"I don't know. He's been starved, that much I can see...and he looks like he's been burned and left to heal, judging by the patches of colour. The eyes...how long has he been down here? He could have slowly been going blind. Maybe the vampires have been torturing children for...for fun."

The explanations sounded weak, even to her, and Ulathil didn't look convinced by them either. But for now they had little else to go by and the simpler explanation was too much to even consider. For the boy's sake, she hoped he had been nothing but food.

Nix could see Ulathil giving her a look that said 'do you agree with me now?', but she wasn't ready to admit anything just yet. Maybe the vampires weren't responsible – maybe...

She stood up with difficulty, swayed, and then steadied herself. There had been stories from older, more experienced vampire hunters before, but Nix had never believed them. To her they had simply been tall tales used to scare off younger hunters from the profession. After all, there was more money to be had if there was less competition. And yet now...she was beginning to wonder if there had been truth to the horror stories after all.

"Nix?" Ulathil sounded concerned, but she ignored him. Nix was determined to get to the bottom of this, and make those responsible pay for the child's death. Questions fleetingly crossed her mind: who was the boy? Where was he from? What was his name? Who were his parents?

It was then that realisation bore down upon her, crushing the last of her youthful years into the dust. It didn't matter who he was or what his life had been like; he was dead. And no one would know. No one would care. He had been nothing. The screams were fading now as a new, fresh hatred began to boil over. She had never felt like this before, and it was so intense, for a moment, she thought she would burst.

Ulathil stood back watching the transformation of his friend happen over the course of a few moments. It had happened to him the instant he had found his parents dead, changing him for the rest of his life. He stepped forward and put a hand on Nix's shoulder, unsurprised when she shrugged him off coldly. She mumbled something about carrying on, not looking at him, before hurrying away down the tunnel. He let her go. She had begun to understand his hatred of vampires, and perhaps soon she would share his pleasure in ending their pathetic existences.

Shouldering his bow, he followed her for the first time in his life.

* * *

><p>There was silence, save for the crackling of the fire. Thalen was slowly becoming aware of the smell of smoke filling his nostrils, burning his nose, but he didn't care. More than once he had suspected this of being more than a simple tale; fictional and safe. Was it real? He didn't know, but the sheer detail and passion with which Weaver told it disturbed him. A child...and if it was true...<p>

"Oh god," Thalen moaned, a deep nausea building up in the pit of his stomach. He could almost imagine the ruined child, with the face of agony and starvation.

Weaver herself looked less than settled. She removed the dark bottle and offered it to Thalen, who snatched it up as soon as it was produced. He struggled with the cork briefly and then drank, ignoring the burning sensation spreading throughout his body.

The bottle was empty before he knew it and he dropped it into his lap with a clunk. Everything was spinning wildly, the sickness in him bubbling beneath the surface, rising, rising...

Thalen twisted and vomited into a bush near him. Weaver watched him with mild interest as he then swayed once and fell forward face first into the snow, unconscious. She leaned forward and removed the brandy bottle from his grasp, eyeing the puddle of sick and sighing. What a waste of good drink. It probably would have been prudent of her to warn him about its strength beforehand, but she assumed he would have had common sense enough to guess this. After all, he hadn't been able to stomach her tea.

Weaver got to her feet and lifted Thalen up with one arm. There was no need for the act of frailty while he wasn't awake, and she strode over to the cave, depositing him gently inside. She was somewhat fond of the lad; he was a good audience, reacting appropriately in all the right places. Weaver hadn't been sure how well she could have told him this part of the tale, but it seemed she had succeeded in keeping herself together long enough to finish.

With Thalen safely stored away, Weaver returned to the camp, extinguishing the fire and packing up her things. She thought of what she would have to tell Thalen tomorrow: the real reason why the children were there.

Weaver shivered. She wasn't looking forward to it.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Again, feedback is much appreciated. I always worry whether my work is of a decent standard and I'm always looking to improve._

_G~_


	4. Mockingbird

**Mockingbird**

* * *

><p>"Shoot all the blue jays you want, if you can hit 'em, but remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird."<p>

To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee

* * *

><p><em>"Mother, mother, speak to me."<em>

_The figure crouches under branch and leaf, its gaunt face turned towards the sky. Robes of black hung on its thin frame, a stark contrast to its bone-white skin. It rakes its nails against the bark, leaving furrows in the wood. Splinters catch at the flesh, tearing it and smearing dark blood into the wounds of the tree. A veteran scarred by a misguided babe, the old and mighty oak ignores the creature pawing at it and instead stands vigilant, awaiting its master._

_The vampire becomes distressed, unable to hear the voice of its cruel parent._

_"Mother, I have soiled your precious name. I beg of you, give pardon from your sweet mouth! Spare your lost child!"_

_Silence. The vampire staggers to her feet and runs back to the concealed entrance, banging heavily on the door. There is no answer; they realise she has been rejected by one parent. She must go to the other. She begins to cry softly, knowing her mother no longer loves her. She falls against the body of her father wrapping her arms around Him, knowing that only He will embrace her now._

_Closing her eyes, she despairs as he does not hold her back. His cold, uncaring touch breaks her heart. She weeps harder; her mother would be arriving soon to punish her._

_Before she can dwell on her misery any longer, the first ray of the rising sun breaks over the distant mountains. Light flows across the forest floor like golden water, inching its way to her feet. The robes protect her from its deadly caress, but as the fiery orb ascends higher into the sky, the day creeps up her clothes. Father protects her from it at first, but it soon tastes her exposed flesh._

_An agony-laced scream explodes from her lips, tainting the air with her suffering. The pain is unbearable; it is nothing like she has ever felt before. Fire is ripping through her, the meat that hangs from her bones smoking and crackling and melting. The stench of her own burning flesh fills her nostrils, and she feels as though she is about to vomit. Her skin is crumbling away to ash, drifting with the gentle morning breeze, but she will not let go of her father. She clings to him, wailing for forgiveness, pleading for her mother to shield her from harm. She will not fall, but stand by His side until she cannot hold on any longer; until the end._

_And oh how she screams and screams and screams..._

* * *

><p>It began in the pit of his stomach, a dull wash of nausea, threatening to bubble over. Thalen groaned and clutched at the source of his discomfort, certain he was about to vomit all over the dusty cave floor. Whatever had been in that bottle was strong enough to knock out a bear.<p>

"So, you are awake."

Not a question; a statement. Thalen slowly sat up, trembling slightly, to see Weaver sat huddled at the cave entrance. Night was beginning to fall, the sun slinking away behind the Jerall Mountains. He had slept through the entire day?

He remembered his dagger and quickly searched for it, ignoring the spinning sensation that followed his movements. He found the silver dagger still sheathed at his waist, and so sighed and relaxed. Thalen fumbled with his thoughts, before giving up. The alcohol was still holding onto his mind, for the moment. Instead, he focused on the story teller, and then frowned. She was pale and shaking, the visible skin covered with a thin sheen of sweat. "Are you alright?"

Weaver nodded. "I had a nightmare. I have collected many memories in my long and active life. Not all of them are pleasant...and some I wish to forget entirely."

A long silence hung over them both, until eventually Weaver shook her head and stood up. She walked over to Thalen and waited for him to get to his feet before speaking. "There shall be no campfire tonight. We must move. Something is circling us...waiting for something. I think it is a wild animal."

Weaver felt relief when Thalen believed her weak lie, nodding and rubbing his eyes. It was another tale for another time, but so long as it did not strike tonight, she would be able to keep him ignorant.

"Can you tell me more of E'drasi along the way?" Thalen asked as they went outside. He felt a twinge of guilt when he saw that Weaver had packed her things up into a little cart already. Had he not been unconscious for the entire day, he could have helped her.

Weaver was surprised. She knew Thalen enjoyed her story, but she hadn't realised just how much. Weaver nodded to him, visibly pleased by his request, before remembering where she had left the tale the previous night. The storyteller coughed nervously and then motioned for him to help her pull the cart. Thalen noted that it was a lot lighter than he has expected. Perhaps she had cast magic on it beforehand?

As the two struggled up the rocky path of the mountain, Weaver turned over the tale in her mind. She had wanted to share it, yes...but she had forgotten the affect it had on her. Now faced with the darkest corners of a simple story, she wondered if she could continue. Weaver looked up to the inky sky, to see the faintest spattering of stars beginning to fight through the black. What was it she had once been told?

"...s-shouldering his bow...Ulathil followed her for the first time in his life." A weak start. Weaver was irritated with herself and could feel Thalen's gaze boring into her. She took a deep, defiant breath, and threw herself into the tale. She would not be beaten down. "This was the start of a new era. An era where Nix did not show compassion, but began to hate."

* * *

><p>Thought whirled around Nix's head. The child...oh, the child. His poor, ruined face swam through her thoughts, until another surfaced.<p>

_"What's your name?"_

_"Mathis," he whimpered. His red eyes darted frantically, filled with fear. He knew he was dying, but at the same time, he seemed eased by her question. He wasn't going fade away, alone. She asked his name._

"I pitied him," Nix choked, her fury building in a blazing crescendo. Her hands were trembling, her body tense. All she could see was her holding the vampire while he died, not knowing what Mathis had done. Who had been there to hold the boy while he had starved to death? The elf stopped, leaning against the cave tunnel, breathing heavily. Ulathil caught up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder again, making her jump. This time, she did not shrug him off, but turned to him and buried her head into his shoulder. He half expected her to cry, but Nix contained herself and simply let him hold her. The time for gloating and lectures was not now. He could talk to her later, but for now it was best not to poke at her frayed nerves.

The moment passed and Nix slowly eased herself away from the warm comfort of Ulathil's arms. For a moment, he seemed reluctant to let go, but then let her slide from his grasp.

"We have a job to do." Her voice seemed to be at the point of breaking, but managed to keep it steady. Ulathil nodded and then offered her his hand. Nix stared at it for a moment, surprised, but then took hold of it. Together they plunged deeper into the heart of darkness, their fingers entwined.

* * *

><p>Weaver stopped, glancing over her shoulder. Now that the alcohol was beginning to wear off, Thalen had noticed how wary and skittish the storyteller had become. He looked around, but in the shadow of the night, could see nothing. Weaver seemed alert, however, her red eyes wide as stared into the distance. Feeling uneasy, Thalen lifted his hand to perform a spell that would allow him to see in the dark. The storyteller immediately lunged for him, dropping her side of the cart and clamping his arm to his side with unexpected strength. The weight of the cart increased so dramatically that Thalen teetered on the edge, on the verge of dropping it. Weaver noticed and quickly hoisted her side up again, looking sheepish.<p>

"There are followers outside the boundaries of sight," she said quietly, her eyes briefly flitting to a spot somewhere in the black. "If you cast a spell, the light will be a beacon. Just trust in me for now. We are safe."

Shifting his grip on the cart, Thalen winced. He felt somewhat unnerved by the fact that Weaver seemed to be carrying most of the burden, despite appearing to be a frail woman. She nodded to him and began to move down a darkened path. Although he felt foolish for it, Thalen hesitated for the briefest of moments, fear clutching at his heart.

Weaver stopped, sensing his reluctance. She looked at him for a moment, and then her lips turned up into a gentle smile. She held her hand out to him. Thalen stared at it dumbly and then returned her smile. He linked his fingers through hers, suddenly comforted by her touch.

"Onwards," she whispered.

* * *

><p>It was the smell that drove them back. Rotten meat mixed with sweat and stale air; Nix reeled away, clamping her fingers to her mouth. Ulathil appeared at her side, a finger pressed to his lips. She knew what he was trying to signal to her; vampires were nearby. The slightest noise would alert them to their presence, placing the elven hunters in terrible danger. The element of surprise had always been their advantage; if they lost it...<p>

Nix reached for Ulathil's hand again, but he had already moved on, leaving her to grope at the air. Of course he would have moved on. What pathetic behaviour was this, whimpering in the centre of a vampire nest like some simple, skittish beast?

But the child...

She shook her head and straightened up, trying to strengthen her resolve. If there were children's lives at stake, she could not afford to crumble now. Picking out Ulathil's shape amongst the enchanted blue, Nix followed, watching her step for any hidden traps.

The two hunters edged forward carefully, their eyes peeled for the slightest sign of their cursed prey. Suddenly, Ulathil's hand flew up, halting Nix in her tracks. He motioned to a dark shape not far from them, which appeared to be scratching at the walls.

It was one of the children. Ulathil made to catch the child's attention, but Nix had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. How was the child still alive in a vampires' lair, and why was it scratching at the stone so? She grabbed Ulathil's arm and shook her head urgently. He stared at her for a moment and then rolled his eyes, before stepping forward.

Both of them had been far too fixated on the strange child to notice the trip wire placed conveniently at their feet, and with Ulathil's sudden movement, the trap was triggered. A pile of logs were released from their hold and came crashing down, the noise ringing all through the mining tunnels. Nix had thrown herself out of the way at the snapping sound of the tripwire, allowing her to dodge the trap at the last moment. She felt splinters bounce off her exposed skin as the heavy wood cracked and broke apart on impact.

Coughing, Nix scrambled to her feet, ignoring the stinging sensation in her palms as slivers of wood burrowed into her skin. She glanced about for Ulathil, but could not see him. Aware that enough of a racket had been made to alert every vampire in the mines, she opened her mouth to shout her friend's name. Before she could utter a sound, two small hands wrapped themselves around her neck and flung her across the room.

Her body bounced once, twice, three times, before losing momentum and settling for a roll until she slowed to a stop. She groaned and tried to get up, every inch of her throbbing with pain, and then saw the child walking towards her.

"Go!" she cried, pushing herself onto her hands and knees. "Get out of here! There are vampires in this mine!"

The child said nothing, but Nix could hear a strange, guttural sound from that general direction. Then it stepped into full view, and Nix heard herself gasp.

It was like the boy she had found further back in the tunnels, but less...deformed. It had been a Dunmer once, but was now a husk of life...a vampire.

"But you're a child," Nix whispered, unable to move. Her arms, which had already been struggling to support her own weight, now trembled uncontrollably with horror. The creature tried to speak, but its oversized fangs crowded the little mouth, blocking its speech. This seemed to only aggravate it, and it raised its hands and threw back its head, screaming. Nix saw that the tips of its fingers had been worn down to the bone, rivets of dark blood congealing on its grey skin.

It looked sharply at Nix, the speed of it making her jump. It stepped forward, and she knew she couldn't bring herself to fight it.

"You're just a child!" she choked, pushing herself back against the walls, as far away from it as she could manage. "You shouldn't be like this! You're just a child!"

It responded with the same throaty gargle as before, and then opened its mouth as wide as it could, baring the terrible fangs that were framed by a ruined face.

There was a twang in the distance, and an arrow suddenly protruded from the thing's temple. It teetered for a moment, and then its form crumpled. Ulathil jogged forward and pulled back the string of his bow again. Another arrow was shot into the dead vampire. It did not move, and so Ulathil was satisfied.

"Nix?" He ran over to his friend and knelt down to her huddled figure. His fingers found her chin, and he tilted her head up to look at him. "Are you hurt? Did it bite you?"

Nix shook her head and allowed him to help her to her feet. "They're turning ch-children, Ulathil. They're making children into vampires!"

Nix may have been an experienced vampire hunter, but she had never seen a child turned before. Even vampires tended to stay away from the young. To turn a child was a terrible act. Those that didn't die in the transformation would often become insane. If not instantly, then over the decades instead, their adult mind craving for a mature body. Imprisoned by their childish form, they would often writhe in bitterness of the vampire who made them, and fester in self hatred until they lost their minds.

Ulathil nodded grimly and walked over to the dead vampire, kicking its body, his features twisted in hatred and disgust. Nix hissed in anger and pulled him away.

"Look at it!" she spat, pointing at the body. "It's a child!" She stared at it for a moment, and then noted that the rags it was wearing were typical female clothes. "A little girl who probably spent her last moments sobbing for her mother. How dare you kick her!"

"Look again."

Nix looked, wondering what he was getting at.

"Look deeply at her, Nix. Look at her gaunt cheeks, her hideous fangs, and the unnatural pallor of her skin. The vampires took that innocent little girl and they destroyed her. Whatever was left of that child was long gone by the time we arrived. That is why I kicked her; that is why I killed her. She's a girl no longer; she's a monster."

His companion said nothing simply staring at the small, hunched body on the floor. His words had truth in them, but it still felt...so wrong.

"You need to kill them, Nix. If you don't, they'll kill us both and then help their masters continue their sick plans. More children will fall victim to them if we don't end this now."

There was a long silence while she turned over his terrible words frantically in her mind. Try as she might, she could not find an argument to counter them.

After what seemed like an age, Nix took a long, shuddering breath, shut her eyes tight, and then nodded. She emptied her lungs with a whoosh, feeling her humanity escape with the last of her air. When she breathed again, it was with a new mindset and a hardened heart. To fight a monster, she had to become a monster.

Or at least, that's all she could console herself with.

* * *

><p><em>AN: If you're wondering about the title, it's a reference to Harper Lee's 'To Kill a Mockingbird.' In the book, a father tells his son that he could kill all the bluejays he wanted, as they were a local pest, but that it was bad to kill a mockingbird (a bird that is not a pest and does nothing but sing all day long). I felt the title was appropriate for this chapter, but it does deserve some explanation._

_To me, the vampires are the bluejays; pests (in the most extreme sense of the word) that people want to kill. Children are innocent beings that do no one any harm. Therefore, kill all the vampires you want, but it is a sin to kill a child._

_However, when a child is turned, the lines become blurred. Are they a bluejay or are they a mockingbird? Is it wrong to kill a child that could still try to kill you? It is a moral question that I can't resolve in this story, simply because everyone has their own opinion. The opinions of my characters do not reflect my own personal opinion, and they possibly won't reflect yours either._

_However, do take the time to think it over yourself. It's an interesting (if somewhat grim) scenario._

_What would you do?_

_And could you live with yourself afterwards?_

_George~_


	5. Blood Mother

**Blood Mother**

She was deep in the heart of evil now. Bones littered the cave floor, and as Nix picked her way around them, she concluded that they did not all belong to animals. Her hands were coated in thick, dark blood, which was congealing on her skin, puckering it. The heavy atmosphere pressed down on her, almost suffocating her. Nix had killed many vampires as she had progressed through the tunnels; they had been slain brutally, and without mercy. The children, though, Nix had left to Ulathil. She still couldn't quite face them yet.

What had been strange, though, was the amount of vampires that were already dead before the hunters found them. Some of them had heavy wounds and magic scorching - victims of an attack. But some of them had empty bottles of poison next to them, or self inflicted wounds, or intense sun burns. Nix's brow furrowed; this confused her immensely.

The heat was increasing the further down the two hunters travelled, the air becoming stale and strong with the metallic stench of vampires. Shattered, rotting coffins littered the gaps in the walls, the ruined wood strewn across the ground.

Suddenly, the tunnels open up into a large, underground room, with large metal basins filled with fire in two rows leading up a set of steps to a stone platform. They caused Nix to wince in pain as her Nighteye ring enhanced the light to a painful intensity. All around were rusted cages containing bodies. Some were the twisted, half formed vampire creatures. The rest were the children who had been unfortunate enough to still be human when the other captives had turned.

"I know you're there."

Nix jumped, a glanced up to where the voice had echoed from. Her ring revealed that no one was there. A slight gasp and then a thud behind her made her spin around. Ulathil was on the ground, rigid. Nix threw herself to him and shook him, whispering his name. But while his eyes darted frantically about before fixing themselves on her, he did not move. A cold hand placed itself on top of her head, and her limbs relaxed so that she collapsed onto her friend, helpless. Too late Nix realised they had both been paralysed.

Strong hands lifted her up into the air and carried her along. All Nix could see was the rocky ceiling, feeling as though she were a boat being swept along by a river. The voice whispered to her again.

"You and your companion killed our children. What did they ever do to you?"

A scuffle sounded ahead of her, and Nix realised the spell must have worn off for Ulathil. "They're children!" he yelled, apparently putting up a furious fight. "You can't turn children! You'll only kill them or drive them insane! You-"

The air seemed to thicken for a moment, and then Ulathil fell silent.

"Hush," the voice whispered. A rustling sounded to Nix's left as she felt sensation beginning to return to her body. Then everything went numb again. "Hush now. You killed my children, but I have more. And they're so, so hungry."

In the distance, a rattling could be heard, along with shrieks and jabbering. Nix's heart beat faster, fear beginning to take over. The elf took deep breaths, trying to focus and think. The voice, whoever they were, only took interest in them when they began to move. She prayed that Ulathil had realised the same thing. Her silver blade was sheathed. The vampires either hadn't noticed it, or didn't care. Nix began to formulate a plan in her head. If it worked, the blade would be her salvation.

Her body was suddenly pulled upright and sat into a large chair, her head lolling against the side of the curved, wooden headrest. The voice stepped into the light, and Nix stared in amazement. The vampire was not the cruel overlord that she had expected, but instead a small, motherly-looking elven woman. Her long, thick brown hair was streaked with grey, and her face, while gaunt as all underfed vampires, also showed the wrinkles of human aging. She wore a simple peasant's dress, a dirty apron tied around her waist.

"The Imperials took away my children," she whispered, "They took them and they never gave them back. So I made my home here and I...I became stronger. And I found children and made them stronger, too. I made them mine so that they could never be taken away again. And we'll fight the Imperials and make them give back my children. Then we can all be together..."

_She's insane_, Nix thought, and turned her eyes to look at the vampires that had carried her to the chair. While some of them looked uncomfortable in the presence of their leader, none of them made eye contact with her, simply staring at the ground.

Feeling was beginning to return to her body; it was like being slowly lowered into a hot bath, the warmth spreading throughout her body, right to the tips of her fingers and toes. A rush of prickling followed, and Nix thought of the tide, sensation washing over her in continuous waves. She prayed that Ulathil would have the sense to stay still, to let them keep their small chance of an advantage.

Though Nix heard no noise, the face of the vampire mother appeared in front of her, and it took all her self control not to recoil in surprise. Nix forced her body stay loose and lipid, feigning the effects of paralysis. She waited for the opportune moment. The vampire leaned over, and Nix saw her cracked lips, stained with old, dry blood. Her breath was putrid, and her fangs were chipped and yellowed. The older woman traced her fingers around Nix's features, and then pulled back her arm, ready to strike.

Before Nix could even put her hand on the hilt of her sword, Ulathil appear from nowhere, barging into the vampire and sending her sprawling.

"Run, Nix!" he bellowed, reaching for a dagger at his boot. The vampire, however, was already on her feet, and lashed out at him with unnatural strength. His head snapped back with the force of her blow, and he crumpled to the floor. Shock had momentarily frozen Nix in place, but at seeing her friend hurt, all hesitation disappeared. She unsheathed her sword and took a step forward towards the vampire.

The woman turned around and opened her mouth to reveal a set of razor sharp teeth, her arms opened wide as if beckoning Nix into a loving embrace. Then an unholy scream fell from her bloodied lips, her red eyes wide and unfocused. Nix stopped in her tracks, her frantic heart hammering against her chance; her one preserved opening against the beast. But what a terrifying beast it was. Her entire body trembled; her palms were sweating, making it difficult to hold her weapon firmly. She pushed against her fear, straining her will to break from the border between fight and flight before opportunity closed itself to her.

The vampire crouched, and then leapt. Nix swung her blade, but she was too late. She barely felt the contact just as she was knocked clean off her feet. She heard a scream that was not her own, and the two tumbled across the floor, hot wet splattering across Nix's face. She kept her lips clamped shut, afraid of the vampires blood, and quickly rolled to her feet. Nix scanned the area for the vampire, and then noticed something strange. None of the other vampires had moved to assist their leader. They stood like statues, merely watching the fight.

There was a sudden flurry of movement, and Nix's sword was knocked out of her hands. Unarmed, she put her fists up, ready to fight her way through her inevitable slaughter. The vampire picked her up by the throat and began to shake her like a wolf with its prey. Her neck ached, feeling like it was at the brink of snapping.

The vampire jolted back slightly, and then her fingers slackened. Nix dropped to the ground with a thud, and rolled away on instinct, staggering to her feet. She clutched at her throat, spluttering, and then stared. One of the minions had taken their leader by the hair, pulled her head back, and slit her throat with Nix's own blade. Blood gushed from the wound, and the insane vampire mouthed wordlessly, her eyes wide with surprise. Her hands scrabbled at the gash, fruitlessly trying to stem the bleeding. Then her legs buckled and she collapsed, twitching at her killer's feet. Nix's saviour said nothing, letting the sword in their grasp fall away. It hit the stone floor with a clang that made Nix jump, and then lay still.

"Who are you?" Nix asked. The vampire stepped forward, revealing herself to be a Nord female. She was pale, with red eyes, short, brown hair, and an angular face. Nix thought she looked very young.

"Get out," the vampire said. "Tell your employers you killed us all. There are enough bodies in these caves for them to believe you. We will be gone by nightfall."

"And the children?"

"We...will deal with them. It is our responsibility. Our burden. Now be gone."

Nix nodded, and shock briefly flickered across the vampire's face, before disappearing just as quickly. She extended the hilt of Nix's weapon out to her, and the elf paused, before taking and sheathing it. Then she ran to Ulathil and checked his breathing. Signs of life were faint, but still there. Hooking her arms under his, Nix began to awkwardly drag her friend from the room, not caring how undignified she appeared in front of her prey.

* * *

><p>By the time Nix reached the surface, her entire body ached and burned from the effort of her struggles. She set Ulathil down and dropped next to him, gasping. The sun was beginning to set, the long shadows of the retreating day leaving dark streaks across the wild landscape. Nix attempted to pull herself to her feet and groaned, the pains in her joints preventing her from moving. Despair began to set in. How on earth would she get both of them to safety?<p>

She heard a scuffling behind her and turned, her hand on the hilt of her sword. The vampires were toying with her. They wanted her to think she was free, and then finish her off. But before she could even unsheathe her sword, a figure stepped from the darkness of the cave entrance and clamped a hand across her face. Nix's scream was muffled by the cold palm that was smothering her. Then her body relaxed and everything went dark.

* * *

><p>"Did they kill her?" Thalen asked, looking afraid. Weaver smiled, and then placed a hand to her head, grimacing.<p>

"It has been a long night, and I am tired," the story teller stated flatly, and Thalen noticed that she did look sickly beneath her hood. He nodded to her, and then scanned the area for a place to rest. Weaver, however, looked straight up into the hills, squinted, and then pointed. "I see an old, abandoned fort ahead. We can sleep and eat there for a few hours."

Thalen turned his eyes to where Weaver was pointing and focused hard. He could just make out the outline of a crumbling fort. "Will it be safe?"

"Only one way to find out."

* * *

><p>The air was thick with the smell of damp and decay. Weaver strode back to the entrance and pushed the rotting door shut, plunging them into darkness. She wrinkled her nose as she inspected the area. While it was not the most pleasant place to retire, it was all they had. Weaver made her way back to the cart and found a bundle of dried wood. She stacked it on the floor, and when Thalen turned away, groping through the pitch black to try and find the supply of food, she let flames dance from her fingertips. The wood ignited instantly, and an immediate warmth washed over them.<p>

"That was quick," Thalen commented, returning with a sack of food and a cooking pot.

"I am skilled with flint and tinder," Weaver replied dryly, and took the supplies from him. It wasn't long before both were supping, and when they had finished, Thalen sat back feeling full and content.

He wasn't sure when sleep took him, but his dreams were uneasy and fractured, like a broken mirror. Demon children chased him through twisting mine shafts, getting closer with every passing second. He could feel their breath upon his neck, hear the hissing escaping from their lips. He screamed at them to leave him alone, and was given childish laughter in return. Suddenly, a hand grabbed at his cloak and yanked him back, sending him tumbling into their yawning, fanged mouths.

Thalen awoke with a gasp, finding that he had slipped off the wheel of the cart that he had been leaning against and crashed to the floor. Thalen coughed and picked himself up, before glancing around for Weaver. The fire had settled into glowing embers, faintly illuminating the room, so that only the nearest and most prominent objects had been highlighted. Weaver was one of them, a curled up bundle not too far from the fire, but not particularly close, either. Thalen called out softly to her, and when he received no answer, made his way to her side, crouched, and gently shook her shoulder. She murmured in her sleep and swatted him away, her eyes still firmly shut.

Thalen retracted his hand, amazed at how heavy a sleeper Weaver was, and rocked himself on his heels slightly, bored. He wouldn't be able to hear more of the story until she was awake, and there was little else to do in the dim light of the dying camp fire.

A bang echoed throughout the fort, and Thalen jumped. He stood up and looked up to the ceiling, tense. Were they here? The loud noise sounded again, and this time he was able to locate the source; a corridor on the other side of the room, the door half off its hinges. Checking his precious dagger was at his side, Thalen removed his grey cloak and pouches to reveal leather armour, and crept forward, his feet barely making a sound on the dusty stone slabs. He dropped to his stomach and wriggled under the broken door. In the distance, he could see a faint flickering light, indicating fire. Thalen approached it, and as he moved down the long corridor, voices began to colour the air.

"Hurry, before Yeska gets back. We gots t' have these weapons ready before nightfall."

"Then pass me that hammer already, lad! Swords don't forge themselves."

Thalen rounded a corner and plunged straight into sweltering heat. The entire room was lit with an orange glow, a clanging sounding repeatedly as a blacksmith worked the metal. Fortunately, the two men had their backs to him, allowing Thalen to slip into one of the rare streaks of shadow. He followed it along the length of the room, waiting until the blacksmith and his assistant turned to reach for the next piece of metal, before he rolled silently through the new doorway.

The cool air was like a blessing from his Lord, and he smiled in relief and wiped his brow before moving on. The dark was heavy here, save for the fiery glow spilling in from archway leading to the forge. Thalen moved around the edges, deciding there wasn't anything worth investigating for the time being. The next area, however, revealed more. There were rows of cages, some with skeletons in them, others people. Thalen wasn't sure if they were dead or alive, but he was reminded strongly of the vampires from Weaver's tale. He also noticed a pile of clothing and riches in the far corner, illuminated by a single torch above it. If Thalen didn't know better, he'd say these people were...

Someone rushed into the room, and Thalen pushed himself against the wall quickly. The person was distracted, however, and didn't notice him. He heard them run through straight to the forge, their voice loud enough for him to pick out the words.

"How far are you from finishing?"

"Still a way yet."

"Yeska wants the swords for tonight's raid now, not later!"

"Then dear old Yeska can come down here and help me finish them, if they're that important! You can't rush craftsmanship."

"But we-"

"They will be done!" the blacksmith roared, and even Thalen started in surprise. "Now out, you snivelling worm! I have work to do and your constant crowing is slowing my hammer!"

A noise that sounded like a cross between indignant anger and fear seemed to squeak from the messenger. Then the stomping of boots began to grow louder as he strode back towards Thalen, his fury blatant in every step. Thalen watched from his hiding spot as the Breton stormed past, his face as red as a tomato. When everything was quiet, the blacksmith spoke again, and Thalen's insides froze.

"Could be so kind as to fetch our unexpected elven guest, lad? He managed to evade the attention of our gracious overseer, so he may be of some use to us."

There was a brief shuffling of feet, and a tall, broad shouldered young man appeared in the doorway. He stared for some time, his eyes occasionally trailing over the spot where Thalen was stood. His brow furrowed. "I don't see anyone!"

"Perhaps he's moved on then," the blacksmith called back. "Though he's a foolish one if he's wandered off into the fort without any idea what's waiting for him. Ah well. Back to work, lad."

The apprentice withdrew from the room, and not long afterwards, the clanging of the forge struck up once more. Thalen stayed where he was, uncertain what to do. The blacksmith had clearly seen him when he'd initially made his way through the room, but had not stopped him...was it a trick? Did he really need his help?

The blacksmith straightened up and wiped his brow with his forearm, before dropping the freshly made weapon into a barrel of water. Steam erupted up with a loud hiss as the hot steel plunging into the cool liquid. The blacksmith coughed and flapped it away, and then looked up. There was a figure in the doorway.

"You wanted my help?" Thalen asked.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I'm aware I used to many 'shes' and 'hers' this chapter, but couldn't think of any alternatives without more repetition. If you have any ideas, feel free to let me know._


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